


Her Smile

by Modest_K



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Pranking some weasleys, Sad George Weasley, bby roxy, wholesome family time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modest_K/pseuds/Modest_K
Summary: On the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, a needed distraction comes along in the form of George Weasley's utterly adorable daughter Roxy.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	Her Smile

“Daddy, what time’s Mummy coming home?” the daughter asked, eyes wide with innocence and childlike wonder. 

“I’m not sure, love,” the father sighed. “You know how it is at Mummy’s job. Sometimes she can’t make it home until after dinner.”

The girl frowned. She was sitting on the rug of the sitting room, staring at a magic bubble box before her with a somewhat bored expression. 

The man, her father, was slumped in an armchair in front of the fireplace. The walls around them were a mellow, dijon color that illuminated the room in a golden fashion. The scarlet armchairs and couch, paired with the soft gold paint emulated Gryffindor warmth more enveloping than the fire itself as it crackled in its hearth. 

He gazed into the flames with a frown of his own. He wasn’t even sure why he’d lit the fire— it was May, and the sun was shining. But something about this particular day made it nearly impossible to feel anything but cold. This day, every year, brought nothing but ice. The air felt like dead skin. 

He shuddered. 

“I wish everyone would come home from school already,” the girl sulked, crossing her arms and huffing at a piece of dark, curly hair that had fallen into her eyes. “I’m so bored.”

Her father turned toward her in annoyance— he’d wanted a quiet day off— and prepared to tell her to go off and play with the toy broomstick her brother had passed down to her. 

But something stopped him. 

His daughter had opened the bubble box, from which bubbles rapidly began to rise. Bubbles of all sizes surrounded the little girl’s face, some so big that the father could make out her entire face through the clear, soapy spheres. Her smile lit up her face, emphasizing her freckles and bringing a glint to her eye, one that was all too familiar to her father. 

He smiled softly. “You know, it’s a nice day out. You up for some fun?”

“Fun?” The little girl looked up at him, her smile widening. “Always!”

Her father hopped up from the chair with enthusiasm that he seldom exhibited on this day each year. He held a hand down to his daughter. “Come on. I’ll show you something we can do that I’ve _always_ enjoyed.”

The little girl reached her small hand up excitedly. Her father grasped it gently before disapparating them both away. 

A moment later, the two stood a little ways down from a cottage overlooking the sea. It really was a nice day out; the sun was shining, a soft breeze rustled the grass, and the water twinkled down below the cliff. 

“Shell cottage!” the small girl gasped happily after a moment of recentering herself post-apparition. “Are we going to play with Dommy or Uncle Bill?”

“In a way,” her father smiled, winking. “You have to keep your voice down, yeah? They can’t know we were here.”

His daughter’s eyes widened in understanding. “Are we here to _prank_ them?”

Her father stifled a laugh. “We are. I’ve been meaning to test something out. You want to help me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” the girl nodded vigorously. “I never get to help!”

“That’s because your brother knows you’re the smart one,” the father grinned. “Doesn’t want to get shown up. Alright now, here’s the plan…”

A few moments later, the little girl was creeping forward through the sand, dropped low enough to avoid being seen from the cottage window, and moving with a grace that her father could scarcely believe. 

“She must get her stealth from her mum,” he muttered to himself. “I am _not_ that coordinated.”

The girl continued crawling up toward the cottage, until she reached the front door. Still crouched, she pulled out a small box from the pocket of her shorts. Her father watched with a delighted and proud grin as the small, dark haired girl pushed a button on the side before quickly crawling away. 

She scurried down the pathway leading away from the house and until she was finally out of range of the windows. Once her father gave her a thumbs-up to signal she was in the clear, she pushed herself to her feet and ran forward to join her father behind the ridge where he hid. 

Together, father and daughter watched as the top of the box opened up. A long, extending arm crept out of the top, lifting higher and higher with an attached, closed hand on the end. The hand knocked three times on the front door, loud enough for the man and the little girl to hear from their perch. 

As quickly as it had risen, the hand shot back down into the box. The door opened a few moments later, revealing a young, blonde woman. 

_Uh oh_ , the man thought. _I didn’t know Vic would be here. We’re dead._

Victoire Weasley glanced around with a confused expression, not noticing the small box. 

Only a second later, the box exploded, erupting with a resounding _boom._ Visually, the explosion could only really be described as green. Green goo flew in every direction, covering maybe a ten-foot circumference. 

Victoire screamed, her entire head and body coated in thick, green slime. “WHAT THE F—” 

The man quickly covered his daughter’s ears. “Blimey,” he whispered. “Doesn’t she know there’s an eight-year-old present?” 

His daughter giggled quietly. 

Victoire strode outside, her face seething with rage as she searched for the culprit. The man quickly backed away, pulling the little girl with him, and a moment later, they disapparated. 

This time, they found themselves in a familiar backyard. 

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Rosie and Hugo’s house!”

Her father nodded, an amused grin playing at his lips. “That’s right, love, but shhh. Today it’s just Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione’s house, and we don’t want them to hear us.”

“Won’t they be at work?” the girl asked. The man raised his eyebrows, impressed. His daughter was sharp. 

“They ought to be,” he replied. “But I have no idea what time either of them will be home, so we have to be quick.”

They started for the patio door. 

“How do we get inside?” the girl furrowed her eyebrows. “Uncle Ron says Aurors are the smartest wizards there are. I bet it’s hard to sneak in.”

“Well, Uncle Ron’s a moron, so Daddy has a key,” the father smirked, holding up the small, aforementioned key. He relished the way his daughter’s face lit up. 

“Yay!” she cheered quietly. “Uncle Ron’s a moron!”

“Oh god. Don’t tell your mum either of us said ‘moron.’”

A few moments later, the two were inside the back hallway of the house, and the man thanked Merlin for such overly trusting family members. 

They started down the hallway, heading toward the kitchen, which was to the far right side of the house, closer to the front entrance. It was a room he could rely on Ron to visit at least once upon his return home from work, and therefore would be the best place to leave him a little present. 

Near the end of the wall, they reached a line of photographs, showing Ron, Hermione, their children, and some of their other aunts, uncles, and cousins. The little girl looked up at them with a smile as she recognized her laughing faces of her loved ones. 

Next to the photos was an ornate mirror, with frozen Muggle pictures tucked around the border showing the family with Hermione’s Muggle parents at different spots from their vacation to the States the year before. 

The man froze in front of the glass. 

A face stared back at him. A playful smile had sat at his lips, but it slipped away as the two men locked eyes. They studied each other with matching pained expressions, as alike as their red hair, chestnut eyes, and abundance of freckles. 

“Daddy?” came the hesitant, high voice of his daughter.

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, shaking away his frown as best he could. “Hey, sorry, love. Thought I saw a pimple.”

The girl laughed at that; it was a bell-like chime, one that brought a genuine, charmed smile to her father’s face. She tilted her head at him. “So what do we do next?”

He grinned down at her. “Next is my favorite part. We leave a fun surprise for your Uncle Ron.”

She followed him into the kitchen with visible excitement, her steps turning into playful skips. 

Her father pulled a pouch out of his pocket. He handed it down to the little girl. “Here, open this up. It’s got a nice, big extension charm on it.”

She eagerly took the bag and pulled open the top, reaching inside to pull out whatever gag her father had packed. 

He tried not to laugh as her face shifted from excited, to perplexed, to completely disgusted as she pulled out a massive, realistic, fake spider. 

“Daddy!” She cried, dropping the spider and jumping back. “Ew!”

He burst out laughing. “Blimey, I didn’t know you’d react like that.”

“It’s a giant spider!” She exclaimed, looking up at him with a cross expression. 

“And who hates spiders more than anyone you know?” he questioned, trying to alleviate her annoyance with him. 

Like a charm, it worked, and her features shifted quickly once again, back to the excitement that only a young child could manage so perfectly. “Uncle Ron!”

“Exactly,” her father nodded, beaming. “Remember that temporary shrinking powder I’ve been tinkering with?”

She tilted her head. “The one you used on Mum’s broom that one time before she made you sleep on the couch?”

“The very same,” he nodded. “Only now, I’ve figured it out. Instead of staying small for a specific amount of time, it will resize itself once its environment is disturbed. We just have to douse it once to shrink it, move it into place, and then add more to start the spell.”

She stared at him blankly. _Right,_ he realized. _Eight-year-old._

“Basically,” he explained more slowly, “if we cram it in a small space, it will grow big again once someone opens that space.”

Her eyes cleared in understanding, her smile returning. “I get it!”

He grinned down at her. “Alright, so where should we hide it for Uncle Ron?”

She pointed at the fridge. “Uncle Ron will go straight for the food. He says plates are a waste of time.”

“You’re astute,” her father laughed, ruffling her hair. She didn’t likely understand the word astute, but she smiled happily nonetheless at the praise. He pulled out the shrinking powder, and lightly sprinkled it over the large spider, which subsequently shrunk down to roughly the size of a blueberry.

The little girl placed the spider inside the fridge on the middle shelf, and her father added the second coat of powder. “Gently now,” he whispered, and they slowly closed the refrigerator. 

“Now what?” she asked excited, bouncing in place. 

He chuckled. “Now, we go find a nice spot that gives us a view through this window. They should be home any minute now.”

Father and daughter made their way outside, locking the door behind them, and ran to the side of the house. He lifted her up into a tree outside and climbed in behind her before casting a quick Disillusionment Charm. 

“How long do we have to wait up in this tree?” the girl complained. 

He snorted. “No idea. I don’t think this far ahead.”

“Is that why you usually get caught?” she asked cheekily. He playfully pinched her arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her giggle. 

It was about ten minutes after they climbed up the tree that Hermione came home, and then another five before Ron arrived as well. They watched him appear on the front doorstep, unlock the door, and head inside. 

“Here it comes,” the little girl whispered giddily. 

They shifted their eyes to the kitchen window. Hermione was sitting at the table, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in hand. They saw Ron enter the room and greet his wife with a kiss. 

“Ew,” the man and girl both muttered before sniggering. 

Ron turned and made for the fridge, chatting amicably to Hermione on his way. He reached out and grabbed the fridge handle, yanking it open casually. 

And then _screamed bloody murder._

The spider, as planned, jumped out at him, back to the massive size it’d been before the shrinking powder. 

Even through the window, they could hear Ron scream. 

“HOLY MOTHERF—”

Once again, the father was forced to futilely shield his daughter’s ears from language she’d probably already heard from himself on plenty of occasions. 

They two erupted into laughter as they watched Hermione whip out her wand and vanish the spider. Ron had all but thrown himself away and toward the wall, leaning against it with a petrified expression, that slowly merged into fury. 

“We should go,” the father said quickly, not wanting to get caught and yelled at in front of his child. 

The two quickly descended the tree and disapparated. 

They were back home, the sun beginning to set. The girl was still bent over laughing, and the father was chuckling a fair bit himself. 

“That was brilliant!” the girl exclaimed, looking thoroughly delighted. “We have to do that again!”

He laughed, scooping the little girl up into a hug, spinning her around. “You got that right. You’re a much better partner than your brother, he bloody laughs too much and gives us away all the time.”

She tilted her head up proudly as he set her down. “That’s because he’s a git.”

“Oi!” he scolded. “Don’t say git.”

“ _Y_ _ou_ say git,” she pointed out. 

“I’m an adult,” he rolled his eyes. 

The two returned to their earlier positions, the girl sitting on the floor, and the father sitting by the fireplace in his armchair. 

The daughter sprawled out on the floor, looking content. “That was fun.”

He looked down at her with a wide grin. “Yeah, Rox, it was.”

“Was Uncle Fred more like Freddy when pranking or more like me?” She suddenly asked curiously, rolling over and looking at him with wide eyes. 

George Weasley faltered, not expecting the question. Like every year on the second of May, he had spent the entirety of the day avoiding his brother’s name. He spent _so_ much energy trying not to think about him. 

But here was Roxanne, asking about her Uncle Fred, about whom she’d spent so many years hearing the most wonderful stories. His daughter’s face was of pure innocence, her disposition never anything but cheery. Her small freckled face was framed with dark hair and her soft features made her out to be an absolute angel. 

But she was so, so sharp, and always quick to a joke. She was brilliant and hilarious and daring and easygoing. She was every good thing about Fred Weasley, but more, because she was so entirely unique. 

She was _everything_ he could ever ask for in a pranking partner. 

“I don’t know if he was like either of you,” George finally murmured in a soft voice. “He wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. But he would have _loved_ the hell out of you, Roxy.”

To keep the smile on her face that he received in response, he would’ve given his other ear. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but I hope you enjoyed it! It was random but wholesome, and I had a lot of fun writing it.


End file.
